


To Live a Lie

by Journeys_of_an_Egghead



Series: What Pride has Wrought [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, POV Solas, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7000453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Journeys_of_an_Egghead/pseuds/Journeys_of_an_Egghead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Warning: This is pretty much a mess xD anyone willing to offer criticism is greatly appreciated ^^) <br/>Solas has to pretend to be one of the ‘imitations’ an elf of this age, an apostate, a hedge-mage.<br/>But he might not be the only one who isn’t living his whole truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Herald of Andraste

He could leave. The Breach still loomed in the sky, but it had stopped expanding. That might suffice - after all, there was no true need for this world to fully heal. It would not last much longer anyway. And yet, he could not deny that he felt a certain obligation to help, to assist those that needed it. To rectify this mistake before rectifying the world. There also remained the matter of the orb, he did not, could not, believe it destroyed. Mythal would not suffer for his mistakes. He needed his power. He needed his foci.  
Staying with the Inquisition would offer the most efficient way of reclaiming it. As an ‘elven hedge-mage’, it would be challenging to get close enough to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, with the Inquisitions forces having all but seized it. True, the site had already been scouted, but he was convinced that they had not been thorough enough. Certainly they were bound to find it, if they just kept looking. And once they finally did locate it, who would be better suited to examine it than their ‘elven Fade expert’? He was certain that they would deliver it straight into his hands. But he was still not certain if he should remain. After all, despite his assistance, despite having enabled this world to survive, he was still seen as an apostate, an elf, a lesser being. The threats of execution had ceased, but he knew that their view hadn’t changed. There was no doubt in his mind that they would lock him up in a tower, should that option become available again. Staying would mean potential danger, continuing to place himself at their mercy. At her mercy. The Dalish woman, Elgara, whose mark had transformed from proof of guilt, to a sign of divine intervention. Solas did not know if he should ridicule or pity the humans for mistaking even such a fraction of his power as a sign of their “holy” patron.  
He supposed it didn’t matter. What did however, was how the woman would view and use her newly obtained influence. She had surprised him during their short interaction, true, but he still did not know her, did not know her intentions. And even the imitations, flawed as they were, seemed to have a certain depth to them, a face they showed, and a face they did not.  
***  
Elgara tightly hugs her jacket as she makes her way from the chantry, the cold mountain air whipping at her exposed face, sending her crimson hair dancing to its breath. She spots Solas near the Tavern and a smile forms on her lips as her eyes meet his. 

“The chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all.” he proclaims in a modulated tone, sneering inwardly. 

To his amusement, she smirks, extending her arms in a gesture of grandeur as she walks over. “Sounds dashing! Am I riding in on a shining steed?” 

His mouth tucks into a soft smile. “I would have suggested a Griffon. But sadly, they’re extinct.” 

“What a shame.” She says, flicking her tongue and adds “Well, I guess I could always mount a Halla. -Then again, I’d really rather not be gutted by a mob of angry chantry fanatics.”

“Yes, that would be most unfortunate.” he remarks, the smile still dangling on his lips when he slightly tilts his head. “I take it you do not believe yourself chosen, then? Neither by Andraste, nor'', he made a short, barely noticeable pause, as his voice dropped "by 'your gods'?”  
He curses himself. Once again, he has not managed to completely mask his condescending tone. If he would stay, then he will have to learn to tolerate her mentions of the Evanuris more passively. The thought alone makes his skin crawl. 

To his relief, Elgara gives a short laugh. If he has offended her, she does not show it.  
“Are you joking? Of course not!” she avows. “Just mere moments ago I was a prisoner, accused of mass murder and now I’m apparently some holy chantry figure. -There’s no telling what I‘ll be tomorrow.” She pauses, stroking her chin in mock-contemplation. “A bard perhaps?” 

That earns her a light chuckle. “I suppose that would not be too farfetched, seeing as you were selected by your people to spy upon the divine’s meeting.” 

“Oh, so I was a spy, huh?” She shoots him a playful look, but he doesn’t reciprocate, keeping his face devoid of emotion. She is not the only one able to tease. 

“Presumably. For what other purpose would a Dalish have attended the conclave?” 

She shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe they heard of my unmatched magical skills and invited me.’’ 

“Certainly. After all, the Chantry is known to praise those that honed their skills outside their constrictions." he counters. 

"But maybe somebody owed me a favor. I could have retrieved a runaway Mabari.” 

“Doubtful.” 

“Or, perhaps I just really like to see people argue.” 

He arches a brow, soft wrinkles forming on his forehead as she grins.  
“What? It’s entertaining. The squabbles back home don’t even come close to shemlen politics.” 

“Ah yes,” he retorts, his voice growing cold again “I suppose there would be a lack of arguments if most dismiss any deviating external opinions.” He sees no point in hiding his disdain, after all, the best lies are told with half-truths. There is a limit to how far the person he pretended to be can deviate from his actual self. 

Elgara stifles a laugh and he is once again surprised by how little she seems to take offense. It goes against everything he knew of the Dalish.  
“Oh, you have no idea. We certainly didn’t lack disagreements.” She admits “But watching elves argue over ironbark or the last slice of bread just somehow wasn’t as intriguing as watching Templars trying to justify the imprisonment of all mages.” 

A smile plays once again at his lips. “Understandable.” 

She grins, shifting her feet. “But yes, you were right,” she admitted. “I was a spy.” 

“Shocking.” 

“I know.” She states enthusiastically, gesturing wildly with her arms. “First Varric found out I’m Dalish, then you deduct that I was a spy. What’s next?” She gives a small gasp and sweeps one hand over her mouth. “Don’t tell me someone will discover that I don’t worship the maker, but the creators!” 

“Yes, that would indeed be highly improbable.” Solas says dryly, and briefly glances at the blood writing on her forehead, before meeting her eyes again. “But joke as you wish, posturing is necessary.” He divulges, wanting to steer the conversation away from the Evanuris. “Belief is a curious and dangerous thing. Open to interpretation and yet so opposed to questioning. There are those who will take offence regardless of your actions. But there is no need to carelessly provoke. Be cautious.” 

“Well, there goes my plan of branding everyone with vallaslin.” She says jokingly and immediately, something shifts between them. 

Her remark struck a nerve, something she obviously couldn’t comprehend, but he can’t hold back the harsh and sharp undertone in his reply. “What a shame.” 

Elgara's body visibly tightens. He has finally gone too far. “Bearing a vallaslin is an honor, tied to a sacred ritual. None of these shemlen would comprehend it, much less endure it.” she jeers. 

_Yes, if you deem it an ‘honor’ to be considered a slave._

She takes a calming breath before continuing. Solas did admire her levelness. “Look, I don’t know what happened when you ‘crossed-paths’ with the Dalish, but I didn’t think you’d be so opposed to elven culture.” 

_In his mind he laughs bitterly, screaming._ “On the contrary.” he retorts, struggling to keep his face a placid, calculated mask. “But I do have little patience for the Dalish misguided rituals.” 

She huffs, which only foments him further.  
“They are little more than children, acting out stories misheard and repeated wrongly a thousand times.” 

“Oh but you know the truth, right?” she snaps, crossing her arms as her nails dig into her jacket. 

“As a matter of fact I do.” he states and there is something so earnest, so hurt in his expression that seems to take some of the heat out her anger. 

“How?” she asks simply. 

Solas face becomes distant and there is a calculated pause before he speaks, his voice calm and controlled. “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields, to see the dreams of lost civilizations.” he starts “I have experienced memories no other living being has ever seen.”  
He looks at her, his eyes burning with a strange intensity. “That is how I have come to a deeper understanding of elven culture. That is how I know more than the mangling details the Dalish pass on as truth.”

She stares at him, visibly baffled by what he’s just told her. “Wait, hold on. You’re saying you fall asleep in the middle of ancient ruins to explore the Fade?” she asks, dumbfounded. The full meaning of what he just told her only slowly beginning to sink in. 

“Yes.” he states matter-of-factly. 

She shakes her head in disbelief. “How are you not dead?” 

A smile plays on the corner of his lips. “Well I do set wards. And if you let food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live.” 

Elgara laughs, the sound cutting through the brisk air. “Usually?” 

“Well there where a few… minor incidents. None worthy of note.” 

“Is that so?” She smirks, shaking her head.

 _He could feel a soft heat creeping into his cheeks._  
_How was she able to elicit such a response?_  
_Why had he implied his embarrassing encounter?_

But Elgara is no longer thinking about the spiders. Her face is alight with excitement, with almost childlike wonder. “But by the creators, you are actually serious. You … that’s…” she starts, struggling to find words that would do her sentiments justice, “it’s... beyond amazing!” She exclaims, her eyes widening in excitement as her mind seems to conjure up wild images. “The things you must’ve experienced! What one could learn! Did you… You could actually see… ” she does not finish the sentence, her eyes becoming distant as she loses herself in thoughts. 

Solas chuckles. “I did not expect my travels of the Fade would inspire such a level of enthusiasm.”  
She blinks dazedly, as if waking from a dream, her head presumably still spinning with the possibilities, and shoots him a confused look. “What did you expect?” she asks bemused and crooks her head. “You’ve just claimed that you know more of our past than us Dalish - you know, the people who have dedicated their lives to recovering what was lost - because you have actually _seen_ and _experienced_ _ancient memories_. I have spent my entire life searching for more information, more bits and pieces of our lost knowledge.” She looks at him, intently. “So how did you think I was going to react?” 

He keeps his expression blank, unreadable and yet there is something in his voice that betrays him. “Mock the Flat-Ear and his stories.” 

“I would never call you Flat-Ear, your ears are way too pointy for that.” she reassures with a smirk and slightly leans against the Taverns facade. “As for mocking your stories, I suppose you’ll have to share some of them with me to see my reaction.” 

At this, his mouth spreads into a full-fledged smile. “I shall take that under consideration.”

She grins, pleased to have elicited such a response. It was strange to smile – genuinely smile again. It was not something he had thought to do so soon.  
Solas looks at her with an expression she is unable to place. He seems deeply pensive, somehow both focused on her and not fixated at all. So for a moment, they just stand there in silence as the icy wind picks up, sending snowflakes dancing around them as his skin prickles with heat. 

“I will stay then. At least until the breach has been sealed.” he finally discloses. 

“Really? Are you sure you want to stay that long?” 

The remark takes Solas aback. It was not as though he had expected her to jump in delight, but some form of contentment did seem appropriate. After all, he does know more about her Mark than anybody else. 

She bites her lip. “That came out completely wrong.” Elgara tries to mask her embarrassment with a small laugh. “Please don’t misunderstand, I more than appreciate all that you’ve done, I really do.” she says “And you have no idea how badly I want to hear about what you have discovered of our history, but…” She steps closer, a strange, grave, intensity suddenly burning in her eyes. He resists the urge to flinch as she places a hand on his shoulder and leans towards his ear. 

Solas catches a sweet, honeyed scent as she speaks, her voice almost a whisper.  
“Na isala vara. Dhrua em.” 

He looks at her in confusion as she steps back, her face the picture of innocence. She flashes him another smile before turning on her heel, and then he just watches as she leaves, the wind gently playing with her crimson hair. A strange, foreboding sense of dread slowly starts to build inside him, spreading through his veins like poison, casting away the warmth with its icy embrace.  
_Just who was this woman that had come to acquire his mark?_

*Na isala vara -You need to leave. Dhrua em. - Trust me


	2. Questions

Rebuilding an organisation like the Inquisition was a large feat, and one that kept those involved continuously occupied. So it came to no surprise that Solas seemed unable to get another moment to speak alone with the ‘Herald’, who now found herself at the center of it all, constantly surrounded by an influx of people. - Advisors and scouts kept delivering a steady stream of reports and sought her input on different matters and worshippers perpetually clamored around her like a flock of sheep, almost tripping over each other in their frenzied quest to catch even a glimpse of the anchor she kept concealed under her leather-gloves.

Solas would think it simply pitiful if he didn’t recognize the potential danger of it all.  
There was no inherent risk in her having acquired the mark, if anything it was a terrible waste, this power she could never wield, a power that would eventually kill her. Alone the fact that she had even survived this long, and the partial control she was able to extort over the anchor, was nothing short of a miracle.  
But there was a risk in its perceived power, in the mindless followers that came with the promise of a hero, the complete obedience, submission offered to someone who has been proclaimed holy.  
Such influence was inherently corrupting, and Elgara was a Dalish mage, charismatic, not bound to the beliefs she represented and utterly unaccustomed to power.  
Not exactly the best combination.  
He also appeared unable to read her, she seemed vague and evasive, and he was beginning to wonder if her playful nature was the cause or the result of it. 

From the way she was acting, had been acting these past few days, it almost seemed as if their previous conversation had never taken place. As if she had never urged him to flee.  
“Na isala vara” the words still rang in his mind. Could he have misunderstood? The ’elven’ language the Dalish used was faulted and simplified, so he supposed it was possible for her to have intended another meaning. But the way she had looked at him… the intensity in her voice… the strange sense of dread that had radiated from her deep, hazel eyes…  
He had felt that she had wanted to warn him, but of what? 

Could it have been nothing more than concern for a ‘fellow’ elven apostate lacking the protection of a ‘divine mark’? It seemed plausible, after all, unlike most Dalish, she apparently considered him one of ‘her people’. But still, even kindship only went so far.  
After all, the anchor did appear relatively stable now, but how long would that last? Elgara knew of his expertise, knew he might ease her pain, perhaps even save her life. So would she really choose the safety of an acquainted ‘kin’ over her own? It seemed unlikely to say the least. He believed every altruistic action to be born from some deeply important motivation, an inner need that overruled self-preservation. Solas couldn’t picture anything that would compel her to place his life over hers, risking her well-being and thus possibly the fate of the world … especially since she barely knew him.

So perhaps Elgara wasn’t planning on sticking around herself? He knew that she was technically ‘free to go’, but doubted that they would actually just let her leave, should she choose to do so.  
Warning him beforehand was thoughtful, considering that her disappearance would have disastrous consequences for him, rendering his help, and thus his usefulness, obsolete in an instant.  
If Solas wasn’t careful, he might not be able to flee in time, couldn’t evade the entire Inquisition - and be thrown in chains… or worse. He chilled at the thought of the imitations attempting the rite of Tranquility on him, trying to render him a shadow even more insubstantial than they.  
Should it work, then all hope of restoration might be condemned to die with his emotions.  
This could be the only warning he’d get.

Solas considered himself a man of reason and logic, though that certainly hadn’t always been the case. Only by suffering through many painful lessons had he reached this point, ruling over - not being ruled by his emotions, able to detach himself by weighing his hurt against the endless depths of memory, of feeling, of existence.  
That skill had been tested in the wake of the Breach, to… varying results.  
Some drops of blood still clung to a wall in the dungeon, where the others believed that he, and not the intruders, had slit the guard’s throat—not to speak of the scorch marks that still brandished the hall…

But now that Solas mind was no longer clouded by frustration or paralyzed by dread and guilt - nor drunk on his immense relief, he had once again fully regained his composure.  
So why was he still here?  
There were other means of attaining the orb. The safe, logical thing to do would be to simply heed her advice without questioning it and leave, to take no chances, no risks. Or would it?

Something made him hesitate - troubling thoughts, ideas that he couldn’t seem to shake.  
Because as logical and likely as the previous options seemed, he had to admit that he doubted them, and so his mind dove further, deeper, creating darker scenarios. Solas tried to dismiss them as nothing more than paranoia but they still scratched at the back of his mind.  
What if she had warned him not about a danger advancing not from others but from herself?  
She was Dalish, was it really so unlikely that she lusted for some sort of retribution?  
Or most chilling of all, what if what happened at the conclave hadn’t been an accident?

She might pose a considerable threat he could not ignore.  
He had to be certain of the woman’s intentions.

So he stayed, though even more observant and cautious than before.  
Blending in was not a difficult task, especially since most people were already in the habit of ignoring anyone with pointy ears on principle. This in turn made forming acquaintances amongst the servants as effortless as provoking a Templar.  
It was in a way reassuring, comforting to know that the behaviour of most imitations was still as shallow and predictable as ever.

And when Cassandra asked him one day if he would join them on their trip to the Hinterlands, he accepted. It was a great opportunity, though Solas was not exactly eager at the prospect of spending such an extended time traveling with them.  
He found the dwarf effusive and rather annoying, thought the human brash and fanatic in her beliefs and the elven woman was pretty much the living embodiment of his failures – brandishing slave markings with pride as her left hand basked in the light of his orb.  
Adding to that that his fate was deeply tied to hers, and a part of him suspected her to have an agenda of her own - and this trip was sure to become an… interesting journey.


	3. String and Fiber

Their first day of traveling passes without any major incidents – if you don’t count their risky encounter with an ill-disposed bear and that tiny avalanche Elgara had accidentally set off as they descended the snowy mountain – and they eventually reach a clearing, a good place to set up camp.

”I confess, Solas, I'm surprised you decided to remain.” Cassandra says as they approach the expanse.

Solas shoots her a wry look.  
“Why? The Breach remains a threat to us all.”

“Just the same, I wondered if you might leave, now that we have a plan to seal it.” she says.

Solas gives a short huff. Of course.  
“Ah, because I am an apostate. I might flee before the Inquisition throws me in chains?”  
He can see Elgara tense. Solas ignores her, fixing his gaze on Cassandra, but speaking just as much to the elf. “I take my commitments seriously, Seeker. Come what may, I shall see this through.”

Cassandra nods in agreement. “As you wish, though I cannot guarantee what will happen in the days to come.”

A dry laugh cuts through the air and all eyes turn to the Dalish.  
“Great. Shemlen justice.” She says. “Are you really serious? After all he has done to help?”

Cassandra crinkles her nose, shifting slightly.  
“It is not for me to decide. Whatever good he might have done, he remains an apostate.”

Elgaras gaze hardens. “So am I.”

The seeker stiffens. “Well you are… in a different position.” she stammers and raises her head, as if relying on her posture to justify her claims.

Elgara flicks her tongue. “Yes, of course. You hear that Solas? It seems the only way to escape imprisonment as a mage is to literally be ‘chosen’ by one of their subjects of worship. Since it seems that Andraste is already taken how about the Maker himself? Or maybe Shartan will suffice? If they are really, really generous.”

“Well Shiny, I wouldn’t say that the humans really worship him. Tolerate, avoid and reject seem more like it. So that might not work out in Chuckles favour.” Varric says. “But I have to admit, there is definitely a resemblance.”

Elgara sighs. “Well Solas, I guess that only leaves the maker, who probably won’t return anytime soon. And maybe Andraste.” she says “I mean who says she can only one ‘choose one’?” 

Solas keeps his expression blank, but can’t keep the amusement from sneaking into his voice.  
“I shall bare that in mind.”

***

The sky was turning crimson in the evening glow. Varric and Solas just finished building up one of the tents - contrary to the seeker and the elf -who remain entangled in a mess of cloth and string. 

“Need any help?” Varric asks, his raspy voice ringing with amusement.

“What do you think?” Elgara retorts, smiling brightly at him as she peaks her head out from under the linen fabric, string dangling from her neck like a noose.

“Well as much as it looks like you have this situation under control, I like to think that my help is generally always appreciated.” His eyes brush over the seeker. Cassandra snorts. 

Elgara chuckles softly and Varric goes to join her, followed by Solas, the soft grass rustling under their feet.

“I still don’t understand how you managed to twist it this utterly.”, Cassandra says, struggling to release a pole from a particularly persistent bit of rope.

“Neither do I. I guess it’s just one of my many gifts.” The elf says, shrugging.

Cassandra gives an annoyed huff, sending Elgaras markings twisting at the sound.

“Look” the Dalish says, sinking her hands into the fabric, “I told you I’ve never done this before. So what did you expect?” her grip tightens, mouth twisting into a mocking smile “Or wait! You choose not to believe me, didn’t you? How uncharacteristic of you.” She says and releases the fabric. The air around them starts to practically prickle with tension. 

Solas wordlessly flattens out the drapes. From the corner of his eye, he can see the seekers gaze fixate on the woman. For a moment he thinks Cassandras expression seems to mellow, almost sadden but when she speaks, her firm voice chases away any lingering remorse so effectively that he wonders if it had ever been there to begin with.  
“If I remember correctly, you were not lacking in confidence...”  
That was true, the woman had not displayed any doubt or hesitation. Not that she ever seemed to.  
If there was anything he was reasonably certain the elf possessed, it was confidence.  
“And I simply assumed that the Dalish…”

“We have aravels, seeker. Wooden, mobile aravels.” Elgara interrupts. “And though I am flattered that you think me a master of all trades, we Dalish, just like you humans, actually split our tasks. I mean you don’t expect a cook to repair your roof, just like I don’t expect a seeker to even begin to understand the meaning of sympathy.”

Solas senses a soft charge crackling on her skin again, like on their way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He found it astonishing how well she was able to control her emotions when he directly criticised her people, and yet even the hint of an insult from the seeker was enough to set her off. 

“Oh and I really wouldn’t huff at the ‘chosen one’” she adds mockingly, her voice a bit too bright. “You don’t want to enquire the wrath of the maker, do you? He’s pretty bitchy, it’s so easy to offend him, and he does hold his grudges for a long ass time.”

Varric and Solas are both stunned into uncomfortable silence by her sudden outburst, but to their collective surprise, Cassandra manages to stay calm.  
“I know that you personally do not believe, but there is no need for you to mock ...” 

“There absolutely is.” Elgara hisses. “As long as you think there is a need to persecute my people.” 

Now Varric cut in, somewhat cautious.  
“Shiny, I think we can all agree that Cassandra already has more than enough flaws of her own as it is, so there’s really no need to also blame her for all the shit the Chantry’s ever done.” 

Solas quietly agreed with the dwarf, and in truth, he had to admit that the seeker had pleasantly surprised him this far. For all her threats and idiotic suspicions she had voiced (and they were numerous) - she had granted the prisoner a chance to seal the Breach, and later apologized for her mistakes - which as elementary as it was, he knew to be far more than most.

“I never meant to imply...” Cassandra starts and Solas internally commends her composure.  
“I was simply…” she continues, but catching the woman’s eyes, those dark deep pools, burning with anger, she simply says “Never mind.”

“No by all means, continue! Lay it all out! Just tell me everything you’re thinking, that shouldn’t take too long.” Elgara says and Solas can feel the buzzing, pulsing as it intensifies. Is the seeker sensing it as well?

Cassandra parts her lips to speak, but Varric is faster.  
“Look, I really don’t think any of us want to hear what goes on in the deepest pits of Cassandras mind. So maybe we should… ” 

Cassandra tries to cut him off with a gesture, and to Solas surprise, it works. She takes a deep breath.  
“Elgara, I know that I have misjudged you in the beginning, but I have apologized. It is all I can do now. I truly regret it.” And in spite of her rather static delivery, the seeker really does seem sincere.

But Elgara just jeers at her.  
“As if that means anything.” She hisses, tearing the string from her neck as she storms of, heading for the trees.

“I’ll get firewood.” She mumbles, barely audible, and soon disappears into the dense thicket. 

It is conflicting. A part of him is concerned that she won’t return. He wants to run after her, but what would that accomplish? If she is truly set on leaving, he might deter her today, yet it will ultimately be pointless. He supposed the timing was preferable.  
This way, he won’t have to concern himself further with the Inquisition. And evading only Cassandra and Varric would hardly proof challenging. They might even be lenient.  
The dwarf in particular seems more sympathetic and charitable than he had initially expected.  
Yet there is still another part of him that wants to follow her, to use this occasion to finally speak with her alone, to inquire about their last conversation. But deep down, he knows this isn’t the time. Right now she wants, needs to be alone.


	4. Lightning

Elgara returns sooner than he would have expected, arms filled with firewood. Solas assumes her to have taken part of her anger out on the trees, for some of the branches are distinctively larger and bear subtle scorch marks. But he does not voice his observation.  
The seeker might have noticed even so, for she is quiet the rest of the evening, scarcely speaking a word and careful not to directly address the Dalish at all.  
And after they share a meal of simple bread and dried fruits, Cassandra immediately retreats into her tent. Solas is tempted to retire for the night as well, in fact he has longed to slip into the Fade ever since they had embarked on this journey.  
But his instincts tell him not to let the elven woman out of his sight. He wants to finally speak alone with her. He cannot let this opportunity pass him by.  
So he stays around the fire, watching the flames lick at the wood as time passes, listening to Elgara and Varric’s animated conversation.  
  
“So Shiny, what exactly are these ‘tasks’ you have with the Dalish? Any hidden talents you care to share?” Varric asks as he shifts his position, slouching back in his posture.

“Like what?” Elgara says, a smile playing at her lips.

“Oh picking flowers, frolicking, charming people with songs. You know, elf stuff."

Solas gives an irritated huff. The abilities of the true elves far exceeded such idle pastimes.  
And why most of this age insist on picturing the shadows of the elvhen, the Dalish - who seemed ready to kill at the slightest conflict of interest- as peaceful, gambolling creatures, was beyond him.  
A part of him wants to engage in their conversation, but they do not seem to have yet taken note of his demeanour. And ultimately, he is glad of it. For now, it would be enough to listen. One could often learn more by simply observing rather than actively engaging.  
“My dear Mr. Tethras, what would be the fun in simply telling you?” Elgara says playfully and ads with a smirk, “Guess.”

“Again with the guessing, Shiny?” the dwarf asks. “Huh, you really like to turn everything into a game, don’t you?”

Her smile brightens.  
“And you always want a story.”

“Ha, true, true.” Varric says. “But doesn’t everybody?” He gives her a crooked smile. “I mean, isn’t that what we all want, deep down, to share our hilarious, sappy and tragic story?” he asks, somewhat mockingly.

Elgara shrugs, her face a playful embodiment of disinterest.  
“Nah, I’ll pass.”

“Oh come on, I’m just trying to engage in some friendly banter.”

“Is that so?” she says and arches her brows, still smirking. “Why the sudden interest?”

Varric laughs.  
“Well, what can I say, I really do harbour interest for the lives of my fellow surface-dwellers.  
And so far our conversation has been a bit one-sided. You know, most people are usually more than eager to talk about themselves.”

She shrugs.  
“Perhaps I’m just not that interesting.”

“Oh, somehow I really doubt that.” He says with a rather uncertain laugh, eyes darting to her left hand for but a moment “Besides, most don’t shy away from boring. The really interesting stuff, the betrayals, corruptions, affairs, that’s what people don’t like to talk about.” 

Elgara smiles and inclines her head in a simple nod.  
“Well, I don’t think you will unveil those scandalous secrets you apparently think I have, but if you ask the right questions, you can go ahead and find out if I dance naked in the moonlight and can command woodland creatures with a strand of my hair.”

“Um, a strand of hair?” Varric asks, brows raised.

She shrugs. “Seemed as logical as anything they have ever come up with.”  
“Yeah, I’m not so sure about that.” Varric says. How about the sound of your voice, maybe even some gentle flicker in your eyes or a subtle flutter of your lids? But I mean hair, really?” his brows furrow. “What exactly would impact its power, length? A particular blend of soap? And could just anyone get their hand on some strands and then have an army of angry rampaging bears at their command? Or are its effect somehow tied specifically to you? You’ve got to think these thinks through.”

She guffaws.  
“If you put it that way, maybe there are some rumours that are not quite as far-fetched.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.” Varric says. “Sure a lot, if not most of them, are incredibly stupid, bordering on utter bullshit. But every story starts with some grain of truth, even if in the end, it turns into nothing more than a giant pile of bronto dung.” He shrugs. “And I don’t know, some, a few, do seem kind of accurate. You know, Daisy – Merrill“ 

“The Dalish from the Sabrae clan.” Elgara chimes in, showing that she had payed attention to his story. 

Varric beams at her.  
“Yes, Daisy said that she and her clan did actually frolic. Now she might have been joking, and she did claim it was not in the woods but … “ he clears his throat as he catches her expression and his eyes start to dart around ”well, um never mind. I’m no longer sure where I’m even going with this.”

She chuckles, washing the frown from her face.  
“No need to get so flustered, Varric! I guess some of those tales might partly apply to some.” She says and Varric visibly relaxes. “For example, I really am an avid climber - I basically live in the trees, like a squirrel. Also, I do perform human sacrifices, but only on Tuesdays.”

Varric gives a somewhat hesitant laugh.  
“See, I know you’re joking, but somehow it’s still vaguely terrifying.”

Her smile broadens. And he reciprocates.

“Alright, fair enough, I’ll play along.” He says finally and after a brief pause asks “So, you probably weren’t in charge of any constructions… were you?”

She laughs heartedly. “Definitely not! I was never good at creating… anything, really. My talents are more of a destructive nature.”

Her voice rings with humour, but Solas thinks he can detect some shimmer of sadness in her eyes.  
She gives a short, absentminded tug on her left gauntlet. 

“Well you do excel at shocking people – literally.” Varric ads, with a somewhat uncertain grin.

“True.” She says matter-of-factly, a soft smile gracing her lips.

“So how about…” Varric starts, contemplating. “Cooking?” he asks, as if doubting his own voice.  
“Cooking?” she repeats, amused. “Well I can manage some dishes, I suppose, but I only helped occasionally, usually with cutting and cleaning ingredients when I had the time. I could probably manage a pretty good bradhe, it’s a sort of pastry, though it will be nothing like Ghilens’…” she trails off then for a moment, but quickly regains her composure and offers Varric an inquisitive smile.  
“But why cooking? How did you go from electrocuting demons to preparing food?”  
“Honestly, I’m not sure. You're a mage so, you know lighting, fire. Food seemed logical.” He admits.

The curve of her mouth climbs even higher. “I like how you think, Varric.”  
He shrugs. “What can I say, I have the mind of a storyteller.”  
She chuckles, a gentle sound that crackles with the flames.

“Did you have any training in the healing arts?”

Varric and Elgara both flinch in startled surprise, as another voice punctures their conversation.  
Solas hadn’t spoken much since they left Haven but his curiosity had drawn him forth now.

The woman recovers quickly from the shock of realising that he was not simply part of the ambience, but actually a living person with the ability to listen and speak. A charming, apologetic smile grows on her lips as she turns to meet his eyes.  
“I do. My magic manifested at an early age and learning to heal seemed …” she hesitates for a moment, presumably combing her mind for the right word. “healing.” She concludes, smirking.  
It takes Solas slightly aback. It was strange to think that magic could ever be considered a burden in this world. Though the Dalish weren’t quite as paranoid as the Chantry, they did have nonsensical regulations and idiotic superstitions, as was their way. So especially as a young child, it could have brought its difficulties. He had not yet considered the effects it undoubtedly must have had on her.  
Elgara shrugs. “Also Deshanna insisted. And I was a very quiet and obedient child.”  
This description does not really seem to fit the woman that is in front of him now, and Varric appeared to share his sentiment.

She laughs at their reaction. “Luckily I grew out of it.”  
Somehow this gives way to more questions and tales and before long, Solas finds he has allowed himself to get sucked into the conversation. There was just something oddly captivating about her, in the way she spoke, both serene, attentive and full of passion. Her deep hazel eyes appeared to absorb his every word and often practically danced with excitement.  
Elgara showed a genuine interest in their discussion, in what he had to say. And soon their exchange trailed to the Fade. It was both strangely fascinating and frightening. She seemed to have a rather deep knowledge, able to grasp some notions he would have thought far beyond an imitation.  
The Dalish believed the Fade to be a place of danger, and demons to simply hate the natural world and seek to bring chaos and destruction to the living.  
How then, could she, who had been raised with such prejudiced misconceptions have acquired such knowledge?

***

Varric’s tired gaze trails to the tents, having slowly grown disinterested in the turn the conversation had taken.  
“Well this is getting out of my league, I’ll leave you two to it.” 

Elgara sighs.  
“Two tents, four people. Looks like I’ll have to take one for the team and share a tent with Cassandra.” she concludes, visibly dissatisfied.

“We’ll be forever grateful for your sacrifice.” The dwarf says and stifles a yawn as he stands up.

“Well then, sleep well Varric!” the woman offers.

“Good night.” Solas concurs.

“Yeah, good night.” Varric says and ads with a grin “I have to admit, I am impressed that Fadewalker is still awake.”

That earns him an irritatingly hearty chuckle from Elgara.

“I aim to please.” Solas says dryly. 

And then there is an uncomfortable tension, a strain that seems to corrupt the air. It spreads as they sit in silence, listening to the sound of leather boots on grass as the lapsing flames stretch their feeble heads towards the sky, casting their dim glow like mages tarnished by the Templars. Then that sound dies as well. And it’s silent. They are alone.  
Solas looks deep into her eyes, but she stares straight ahead.  
He parts his lips to speak, but she beats him to it. 

“I have a question.” 

He feels his brows shoot up. “Yes?”

“Didn’t you understand what I’ve told you at Haven?” she asks.  
She still doesn’t meet his gaze.

His face darkens.  
“I did. You wanted me to flee.”

She nods. Her eyes twitch, glassy and … absent.  
“Then why are you still here?”

“Is that a serious question?”

No smirk, no snarky comment, no word - just a nod.  
A quiet, sullen bow of her head.  
Solas feels a chill claw at his chest.

“It is simple. I remain because I am still needed. The Breach threatens us all. What I would like to know is” he says and the intensity of his stare sharpens “why you are so eager for me to leave.”

This appears to surprise her, and she finally raises her head to look at him.  
He doesn’t know what he expected to feel. Probably nothing but curiosity, perhaps anger, distrust or resentment. Whatever it was, it hadn’t been this… pity.  
For a moment he appears to glimpse into her mind, into some sunken and far-reaching hurt that lays hidden, buried deep inside her soul. Her dark eyes are dancing again, but this time not with excitement but fear.

Her voice wavers.  
“Are you serious? Where should I start? With the Chantry, who has declared all mages apostates and probably kills most on sight, or the fact that we are traveling with a seeker who is likely just itching to throw you in chains?”

He studies her expression intensely.  
“Is that all?”

She flicks her tongue and shakes her head. “Isn’t that enough?”

“So far the risk doesn’t outweigh the benefits.”

Her eyes harden.  
“Really? What more do you want?”

“You tell me.”

Whatever doubt he had that there was something she was hiding vanishes instantly.  
Her hesitation is unmistakable.  
“There is nothing for me to tell. Just stating the obvious.”

“I might be able to assist you, if you’ll let me.” He pushes.

“The best way you can help me is to leave.”

“That is not true, the anchor…”

She flinches, barely noticeable and quickly offers a reassuring smile.  
“Is still glowy as ever.”

“May I see?”  
He reaches out, but she recoils. Not much, but still, it is telling. Of what, he was not yet certain. 

“There really is nothing to see.” She tries to divulge. “As I said, as glowy as ever.”

“Does it cause you discomfort?” he asks, slightly startled by the concern in his voice.

“Oh no. Don’t worry, I‘m just tired, that’s all. Maybe I should just get some sleep.”

“If you must.”

“Ir abelas. I suppose that means you will take the first watch.”

“I suppose it does.”

And with that, she stands up. The dimming glow of the fire catches in her flowing hair as she shifts uncomfortably and clears her throat.  
“Oh and Solas,” she starts, her voice low “no one would blame you if you weren’t here in the morning. In fact, I would blame you if you were.” She turns to leave, but then suddenly halts, slightly angling her head and mumbles, barely audible against the gentle rustling of trees in the nightly breeze  
“On nyda.”  
And with that, she vanishes between the caramel of the tent flap.  
“On nyda” he whispers, his tongue rolling over the achingly familiar phrase as he is left there, staring at the flickering light, somehow with even more questions that before.

 

*On nyda. (good night - credit to the wolf of journeys)


	5. Dreams and Tea

It was a deplorable idea. A violation of his ethics, his morals, his core principles. But this was hardly a time that allowed lenience for the sake of integrity. Considering the grievance and sheer volume of possible consequences, he could not allow to be guided, blinded by his conscience. He had to find answers, it was as simple as that. And it was clear that she was unwilling to provide them in waking. Entering into the dreams of another was something deeply personal.  
After all, it is where one’s deepest longings and biggest fears are laid bare. Buried trauma, hidden anxieties one does not even realize exist - and desires one would not confess even to themselves. To say it was a violation of her privacy was an understatement. He thought every being with the ability to think deserving of the inherit right to form and keep their own personal ideals and ideas, wishes and hopes to themselves, no matter how flawed they might be. Tempering with that freedom was against everything he believed in.  
But this was an unprecedented situation. The fate of everything in existence might partially depend on her, should his worst suspicions hold true.  
So could he really afford to treat her like a person?  
After all, she wasn't. He thought the imitations worthy of basic respect and decency, true, but there were ultimately just that - imitations. Nothing else. Nothing more.  
To archive the world one believed in, regrettable measures were inevitable.  
And in the grand scale, considering the things he had done in pursuit of that ideal, slipping uninvited into the dreams of one woman seemed hardly even worthy of note.  
And so, after turning the idea over in his mind, contemplating and debating, he finally formed a decision - the only reasonable course of action - and reached for his green, tattered bag. The fire would do well in keeping any predators away and, if he remained mindful, he would be able to sense any immediate danger and return quickly in that unlikely event. There was no real need to keep watch, he suspected Elgara to have piled this task on him in hopes that it would provide him the initiative to flee.  
But she had underestimated him. He was not that easily deterred. Solas shifted into a comfortable position, laying his head on his pack like a pillow, as he had done so many times before. It took some adjusting as he rearranged the books and potions to neither run the risk of damaging them, nor causing him discomfort.  
Somehow this simple action prompted thoughts and memories to surge to the surface, nights spend wandering the lost memories while his body remained cradled in natures embrace, head resting gently on the soft fabric of his bag. No matter how painful those journeys had been, it had also been a time of hope and opportunity. An opportunity that was now lost. A sense of nostalgia and grave loss lapped at his mind, prying for his attention not unlike the faithful that had clambered at the Heralds feet just a day prior.  
Solas let them run their course and payed them no mind. He simply closed his eyes and breathed. Guiding air into a rhythmical pattern, his chest heaved and sunk under the soft beat. With each influx, he inhaled the rich scent of burned timber and the sweet, fresh fragrance of the woods. With each exhale he released tension, worry and stress - anything that could keep him bound to this land - until his conscious mind slipped from the waking world and into the land of dreams.It was odd. As expected, locating her posed no challenge. In the Fade, her mark appeared as an even brighter beacon, a lighthouse - blazing and shining, practically calling out, drawing the attention of every spirit close enough to take note. And since thoughts traveled differently, lighter and faster here, they were continuously increasing in numbers, prompting them to practically form a cluster around her. It was such a waste. What could have been if only... He shook the thought from his head. Such sentiments were pointless. What was done was done. In order to, in a sense, move back, he had to first move forward. But there was something disconcerting. It was usual for most to resist those who attempt to pry into their dreams. That was notably demonstrated in Cassandra, from whom he could feel a subtle force, a gentle warning for any curious souls.  
But Elgara was different.  
There was a surge of energy, forming nearly a wall of force, so thick and powerful that he could sense her deliberation, her concentrated power of will.  
Curious. Undeterred, he tried to shift around it, to slip into her dream, pushing against the wall with a quiet resolution.  
But it was of no use. It would not budge, no matter how he approached it, how he twisted his mind or strained the metaphysical possibilities of the Fade. It never gave way, didn’t even waver, to the contrary, it seemed to intensify. This obviously did nothing to ease his concerns.  
It was a deliberate act, of that he was certain. Now, it could be that she simply did not want more spirits to interact with her. That would be reasonable enough, and yet he doubted it. Solas could be wrong, but he suspected this wasn’t simply a desire for privacy. There was a deliberate, commanding energy. An astounding force. Whatever Elgara was dreaming about, she was desperate to keep others out.  
The question was why? What could she be so determined to conceal?  
And how could he hope to uncover it?

***  
“Tea?” he comments, visibly repulsed, as the heavy aroma sweeps to his nose.

“I see you have moved on from criticizing my people to criticizing my beverage of choice.” Elgara says as she reclaims her seat on a cream colored blanket next to him, hands wrapped around a steaming tin-cup. A sly smirk forms on her mouth as she leans back. 

“I’d say that’s progress.’’ she teases and brings the mug to her lips. 

“If you wish to interpret it that way.” Solas reciprocates with a crooked smile. 

She chuckles, a soft hum that echoes through the cup, splashing at the liquid. Her eyes are as bright as ever, but in every other way, Elgara’s face appears drained and fatigued.  
Grey frames her sockets like a painting, wrinkling under the strain of her skin and her copper complexion has lost most of its brightness, and some of its color.  
That she had not gotten a well-rested night would be apparent to anyone with the ability to see.  
And not just one who had attempted to slip into her dreams…  
“I just assumed, that after our discussion yesterday … well, you did show a great interest in learning more of the Fade.” Solas says.

“Yes, you two were very… enthusiastic. ” Varric chimes in from behind, as he cuts himself a piece of bread with an ornate silverite dagger. Elgara crooks her head, green markings coiling as she raises her brows. “The Fade? What does tea have to do with the Fade?” 

“You really do not know?” he asks, perplexed, and she simply shakes her head. 

How curious. Elgara had been the one to steer their conversation to the topic and they had discussed it at length. After the unexpected insight she had demonstrated, how could she possibly not know about the effects of most blends of tea? It was almost impossible. She had to be lying. But to what end?

“To a certain extent, it blocks, obstructs, it acts much like a metaphysical cloak that will wrap itself around you, shrouding your mind like a fog.” he explains and is vehement in observing her expression. She meets his gaze with a playful grace. There seems to be no single muscle in her face that betrays her and so he continues. “Most blends of tea increase the difficulty in dreaming, you will find the experience lacking in vivacity.” 

“Huh, interesting.”, she says, with what appears to be genuine curious interest – and then takes another big, savoring gulp of tea.  
Solas just stares at her, unsure what to make of her reaction. 

“What?” she asks, amused. “Did you expect me to just” she makes a dismissive gesture “throw it away? The day is only just beginning, so honestly, right now I am more concerned with staying awake and alive than how vivid my dreams are going to be.” she explains, drumming her gloved fingers against the cup. 

“Trouble sleeping?“ Solas asks, and is careful not to sound cynical.

“Yep. What tipped me off? My eyes, that I can’t seem to keep from twitching, or the fact that my face probably looks like an inflated darkspawn?”

He chuckles, despite himself.  
“I would not go quite as far as that! But the soft rings under your eyes are rather telling.”

A sweet, playful laugh echoes from her throat as she gives him a look that makes the beat of his heart skip a note.  
Simpleminded fool.

“I might help with that.” He says, “Sleep, that is.”

She shakes her head.  
“I really doubt it, unless you are volunteering to share a tent with Cassandra.”  
She loosens the grip on her cup and runs a hand through her hair. “You know, maybe I should just sleep outside from now on. Even if it is freezing cold. After all, you seem to have gotten some great rest.” Her eyes practically point to the smudged marks of grass on his clothing.

He ignores her remark. Solas would not allow her to redirect his focus, and yet, he can’t seem to keep the tips of his ears from heating up.

“There are other things that might disturb you. If you are troubled, bothered by spirits, perhaps I could…”  
He couldn’t even finish his sentence before she cut in. 

“Thank you, really, but there is no need. I’m a mage, so I know a thing or two about the Fade.”  
She shoots him a teasing glance, as if daring him to protest. When he gives no indication to do so, she carries on. “And the only thing that keeps me from a restful sleep is Cassandra’s excessive snoring.” 

“I am not doubting your abilities as a mage.” 

“Oh?” she comments, raising her brows in a smug grin.

His expression hardens.  
“But that mark on your hand is … unprecedented. You are tied to the Fade in a way that is unknown to this age.” Was that a strange way of phrasing it? “Perhaps to all of history. It would only be natural for you to experience difficulties and challenges that require some adjustments.”

“Hm.” She starts to twirl a stand of hair between her fingers. “Tell you what, if there is ever anything that is bothering me about the mark, any strange sensations, dreams or whatever it is your waiting for, you will be the first to know. Is that good enough for you?”

He studies her with a fixed gaze, as if he could discover her mind by observation alone. But she seems as unreadable as ever.  
“Very well.” He says finally, and in the distance, he could hear the seekers firm voice. It was time for them to journey on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, constructive criticism and grammar/spelling corrections are greatly appreciated. : D I’m as good as done and will probably post the next 4 chapters this or next week. If anyone is up for proofreading, I would greatly appreciate it : D


	6. Rifts

Solas was beginning to read them. They hadn’t travelled together for long, but in times such as these, with demons being twisted into this world and bandits more desperate than ever, they had already been forced into their fair share of battles. And you could learn a lot about a person by how they carried themselves in combat.  
  
When Cassandra fought, there was a sense of purpose, a strong determination, it was evident that she took pride in her skill, but she always displayed a certain guilt when her opponent fell, the regret of deriving pleasure from ending another’s life. Varric on the other hand had the air of a man who did what needed to be done, there was usually no joy, no satisfaction, nothing but pained acceptance in his features. But Elgara was different. The woman had a seemingly unyielding focus and appeared calm, calculated, and utterly unmoved by death. Solas knew that it was a rare soul who could fight like that, who was able to fully detach themselves in such a way. Taking the life of another was not something that came natural, it had to be learned, practised and even then it tainted most, an unrelenting echo that haunted the mind like nothing else. So how could she, who claimed to have grown up in a peaceful Clan, one that allegedly even traded freely with humans, have come to acquire such skill and ruthlessness? Solas found it more unlikely every day that she was merely who she claimed to be, and the grim possibilities that had begun to fester in his brain since Haven seemed increasingly feasible. He was now severely doubting that she had acquired the mark by mere accident. Could it really have been nothing more than a coincidence that had left her as the only survivor, when the explosion had destroyed even Corypheus himself? Or could she have possibly known of his plans and somehow have foiled, manipulated them? It would make some sense, explain why she lacked the close-mindedness of most Dalish and seemed to possess quiet an impressive knowledge about the Fade. The question was why? What could she stand to gain?  
He didn’t have an answer to that yet. After all, the anchor had nearly meant her death – multiple times. And nobody could have foreseen the worship it now inspired in some.

So Solas could not bring himself to fully believe it yet, even after the strange occurrence in the Fade.  
He tried to convince himself it was because he thought that she lacked the necessary depth, but in his core, he knew that was a lie. The truth was, he growing fond of her. Fond of an imitation. It was idiotic, nonsensical, pathetic. Was a part of him truly so starved for companionship that he was allowing himself to care about her, and after spending mere days together? There was just something incredibly easy in her demeanour, so inviting, genuine, and achingly familiar. It made him wish for something that he never, in his wildest and most candid dreams, could have phantomed he would ever wish for.

He wanted her to be just a Dalish. 

But wishes were the tools of the desperate and presumed. And Solas was no fool. He was aware of his bias, and would not allow his emotions to once again cloud his judgement. If he found out she had plans of her own, should he discover that she was a threat to his plans, he would kill her. It would be a mercy anyway. She had never been truly alive to begin with. She was basically Tranquil. They all were. 

*****  
Solas freezes with dread. From the corner of his eye, he can see what is about to happen - and knows he is powerless to stop it. It’s too late to intervene. And still he lets shards of ice careen from his staff, brisk, sharp and unforgiving. But they simply pass through the demon like light traversing glass, as it howls in fury, already fading, while bolts of lightning dance on its mirage.  
He dashes forward then, letting the Fade pull him ahead, blurring his steps as he moves, never taking his eyes off the collapsed figure.  
Elgara is merely laying there, right hand clutching her stomach, pressing against the wound in an effort to stop the blood from oozing out of her as she paints the grass crimson. Her face is twisted in pain, her teeth bearing down hard on her lips as she curses through laboured breaths. And yet her left arm is stretched towards the rift, pulling from it. Her entire body trembles and twitches as she lets the raw power stream into her palm. Images of her on the cell floor, shaking and screaming, flash before his mind. He reaches out to her.

“Don’t! It’s just a scratch.” She says defiantly, the colour slowly draining from her face. 

He suddenly notices a dull glow radiating from her right hand. Elgara was still using magic. She was healing herself. Fool. She could ill afford to squander her strength like that. Solas ignores her plea, placing his hands gently around her stomach and letting his magic flow into her like a stream, cooling, comforting and healing. To his surprise and relief, she doesn’t object. But she is weak, so weak. And soon his hands, just as the fabric of her clothes, are drenched in the warm, sticky blood.  
Fenedhis, the wound is deep, so very deep.  
She turns her head towards him and he meets her gaze. Those tawny eyes, those dark pools reach a part of him he wanted to pretend didn’t exist - and for a moment he is trapped in them. In that fragment of time, she is not the anchor, she is not a possible threat, she isn’t even a Dalish.  
She is a woman at the verge of death. And he wants her to live.

Elgara opens her mouth to speak.  
“Put my glove back on, will you?” she pleads, her voice a feeble whisper against the thrumming, pulsing buzz of the rift.  
He just nods, deadened.  
Then she smiles.  
The pull quickens.  
The rift unravels.  
Her body shakes.  
The noise stops.  
And then the curtain falls over her hazel eyes.  
He could sense Cassandra and Varric rush over, could hear them scream, but it all seems obscured, surreal, distant. His entire attention is focused on the wound. She has to live, the mark had to survive. Solas concentrates on his spell, oblivious to anything but the deep thrum of magic as flesh stitches itself together under his touch. But she is growing cold.

“A potion!” he orders, his voice ringing with urgent intensity.  
Cassandra quickly loosens a flask from her sash and leans down, pouring the liquid gently into the woman’s mouth. It seems to help a bit, but the damp ground was not doing her any favours, she needed warmth. And the battle and the mending of her wound had nearly completely drained his mana. He fastens his staff on his back. And then he gently shifts her, supporting her centre as he guides her into his arms, lifting her. Her head slumps against his chest. The iron smell of blood mixes with her flowery scent. She is close, so close and so incredibly feeble and lifeless.  
“We should get her to camp.”

“Agreed.” Cassandra says, her voice shaking.

Varric just nods, eyes wide in disbelief. 

Solas starts to walk, but then halts.  
A piece of fabric has caught his attention.

“The glove.” he says, gesturing to the leather piece of clothing.

“Ehm… sure.” Varric says and goes to pick it up.

“She insisted.” Solas disclaims as Varric gently pulls it over her hand. The green glow vanishes under the animal’s skin.

 

*******  
One again he is sitting beside her, tending to her recovery as he observes her. But this is different. Everything is different. For one, the location is a lot preferable. The small comforts of a tent far exceed the dark despondency of the cell. He is also no longer under constant supervision. Cassandra and Varric did join him in the beginning, but soon left, to attend to the tasks maintaining a camp demanded. They trusted him now, but he knew that meant preciously little. Still, he had thanked them and meant it. It was dangerous balance he had to keep. Solas had to play along, appear to fit into their world and pretend that they were real. But he could not afford to get so sucked into this fantasy that he mistook it for reality. It had happened to Felassan. And Solas had taken the appropriate measures. He would not be more lenient with himself. But how could a few days have changed so much? Elgara was no longer just a vessel of his mark. She was something else. Something… more. Not a person, certainly not, but not a tool either. He has even respected her wish to keep her glove on and not taken this chance to examine the anchor. Such a fool. Perhaps he really should …  
He reaches out then - and Elgara comes awake, bolting upright with a scream.

Solas nearly jumps to her aid but stops when he catches her expression. It is a look he has more felt than seen. The immeasurable guilt and loss of having doomed the ones you love to die. That is merely your interpretation, he tells himself. And yet, he can’t keep his blood from running cold.

He takes a few steps back, steadying himself.  
“How do you feel?” he asks.

No reply - instead, her eyes dart to her left hand. Seeing the glove, she lets out a deep breath, visibly relieved - but fear is still etched into every muscle in her face. She doesn’t meet his eyes.  
“Did you touch the anchor?” she asks finally, a whisper that almost breaks.

“Excuse me?”

“After I fell unconscious. Did you touch the anchor?” she repeats, louder this time, but her voice cracks at the end.

“I did not.”

A boundless sigh of relief.  
She lets herself fall back, slumping on the bedroll.  
“Good.” 

There was a chilling pause - as she seems unwilling to speak and Solas appears unable to process it all. But then he finds his voice. “Why are you so concerned? You do realise that I have watched over your recovery in Haven, studying your mark excessively?”

That prompts tears to dwell in her eyes, and she squeezes them shut so tightly as if it to keep the entire world away. Her arms cover her face in defence, like a shield of flesh and bone.

“I told you to leave, why didn’t you listen?” she exclaims suddenly, her voice somewhere between a scream and a wail.

Because I don’t know your aim.  
Because I can still help.  
Because this is my responsibility.

“I’m afraid I don’t...” he starts.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She screams, and sobs started to shake her body.

His insides twist. He wants to reach over and hold her arm, to reassure her, to keep her from shaking, from shifting the bandages. But he doesn’t know if touching her would have the desired effect. Or if it would only serve to fuel her panic. Solas takes a moment to contemplate his options, and an idea starts to form.

“Tel'enfenim, da'len.” He hushes gently, and the reaction is immediate. She freezes, her tears slowly stilling. Her breath travels over shallow slopes before it finally evens out.  
He watches her and tried his best to numb his emotions. To keep his heart from bleeding for those words. 

“Get some rest.” He says dryly, and at that, her eyes find his again. Mad, frenzied.

“No. Please…” her voice is a feeble plea.  
He raises his brows.  
“He finds me in the Fade.” She whispers, as if that was explanation enough.

“Who?” Solas asks pointedly.

She hesitates for a moment, as if searching for the right words.  
“You obviously don’t believe in the creators.” 

He huffs but she makes no note of it, already continuing to speak. 

“But do you believe in a higher power? The maker?”  
“No, I do not.”  
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She says, defeated and closes her eyes again.  
At first he thinks she won’t continue. But when she finally does, she doesn’t stop, reciting her words as if memorized. “There are things in this world that are outside of our control. Beings that are more powerful than you can even imagine.” Is that so? he thinks derisively. “And we are little more than pawns to them. I am already his, and there is nothing I can do.” Her lids flutter open and her eyes claw into his. “So please lethallan, leave, before he controls your life as well.” Her voice shook with such desperation and there is an expression of pure terror in her eyes that leaves him speechless.

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand.” He says after a while. But from the look on her face, a direct answer was highly unlikely. So he presses on.  
“What you describe as ‘Him’ might just be a, or perhaps multiple - spirits, a construct of the Fade.  
The mark is beckoning, calling out to them. I could help you communicate, accompany your dreams if you … ”

“No!” she screams with such furious intensity as if he had just suggested to cut off her arm.

“I simply…”

“Promise me, you won’t do that! No matter what!” She demands as new tears start to cloud her eyes. 

He just looks at her, confused and somewhat horrified.

“Promise!” she repeats, just as urgent as before.

Slowly, he nods his head.  
“I do. As long as you do not wish me to.” 

She still seemed dissatisfied.  
He can do nothing more than reassure her again.

“I promise.” He says.

“Good.” She mumbles, and lets out a heavy breath, her entire body finally able to unbend. And it doesn’t take long before exhaustion and fatigue carry her back into the nightmarish embrace of sleep. 

***

When he is certain that she is asleep, Solas lets out a deep, heavy sigh and rubs his temples. His heart is racing. What was she so concerned about? Maybe the anchor could offer him some better insight. Certainly she would not approve of him handling the mark, but then again, he was under no obligations to please her and besides, it is not as if he had made any promises in that regard. Why was he even wasting his energy thinking about it? Idiot. He shakes his head as he takes her glove off and sets to examine the anchor.  
What he discovers both reassures and unnerves him. There was nothing wrong with the mark. The anchor appeared stable, even more so than he might have expected. There was no discernible cause for alarm. So whatever had her so frightened, whatever danger she had warned him off, would not be so easily unveiled.


	7. Rage and Fear

Solas wakes to the sound of fighting. Concentrated, labored huffs perpetrated by the dull cracking of connecting fists. He grabs his staff and rushes outside to find a curious sight. Elgara is standing there, panting, wearing simple, loosely fitted clothes. _Cassandra must have lent them to her_ , he thinks as he observes the scene.

“Good morning! “ Elgara says cheerfully, not taking her eyes off the seeker. She throws a punch at Cassandra, missing her face by mere inches.

“What are you doing?” Solas asks, confused and somewhat alarmed.

“Training.” She says and whirls to her left, closely dodging a blow from the seeker.

“I am not certain that is the best idea, you are not yet fully healed.” he warns.

“That’s what I’ve been telling her.” Varric's voice booms from his left. He had been watching the spectacle unfold as well, arms crossed, brows narrowed in disdain but his eyes did reflect some mild amusement.

“I’m fine. Honestly.” Elgara says and dodges another swing. 

"Sometimes a lady just needs to punch someone.” She lunges out with her fist, and her opponent deflects her blow. “Right, Cassandra?"

“Right." The seeker agrees but it is clear that though she shares the sentiment, she is not fully convinced that it was a good idea at this point. "But... perhaps you really should take a break.” 

Cassandra suggests and shifts uncomfortably. It leaves her open. Elgara's fist connects with the seekers ribs. Hard. Cassandra inhales sharply, and gasps, ringing for air. But then her instincts kick in, and her reaction is quick and efficient. A fraction of a moment later, Elgara has lost her footing and slams to the ground.

A smile spreads on the Dalish lips as she coughs.  
"It’s nice to get along for once." She says and hugs her sides.  
  
"It really is." Cassandra says smiling, offering her a hand. But Elgara doesn’t take it, scuffing to her feet on her own with a subtle, strained grace.  
  
The seekers face darkens.  
"But I hope that you now see that they are right. You’re not yet at your full strength."  


The Dalish huffs.  
“We can’t afford a break! We’re almost there! We could reach Mother Giselle today!"  
  
Cassandra shakes her head.  
“We need you to…”  
  
“Fight.” Elgara interrupts, giving the seeker no opportunity to dare suggest anything else. “You need me to fight, not to sit on my ass. Yesterday was a misstep. I make sure it never happens again. I have to train. I have to keep moving.”  
  
Now Solas steps over, calm but firm as he locks her eyes in his. “I have seen you fight, Elgara, and you are not lacking in skill. What happened yesterday was not the result of inexperience or lack of training, but rather a marginally slow response.” His expression softens. “Your body is tired. Your mind is tired. You are tired. If you want to avoid injury, then allow yourself the necessary rest.” She meets his eyes, strong and defiant. She was irritatingly stubborn.  
  
“He’s right, Shiny. We have time. And honestly, we could all really use a little rest.”

Cassandra and Solas nod their agreement.

“And I mean shit, you’re a mage, so I think you can practically train while you sleep! Seems to have worked out pretty well for Chuckles so far. I mean hasn’t he basically learned everything he knows while he dreamt?”

Solas just rolls his eyes and Elgara appears not at all convinced.  
  
Cassandra sighs deeply and narrows her eyes on the woman. “I refuse to leave before you have fully regained your strength.” she declares. “The upcoming days will demand everything of us all. We all need to be in peak condition. We can’t afford to settle for less.” Her gaze hardened on the Dalish. “Thedas cannot afford your death. "  
  
That seems to finally reach the Dalish. She looks at them all in turn, biting her lip. And then finally sighs, defeated.  
  
“Fine. But wake me before nightfall. I’m not going to waste more time.” she says and marches off, back into her tent. 

***

The sun is blazing in the sky, making the dewdrops sparkle like the winding crystals of Arlathan. Elgara nearly darts out of her tent, shielding her eyes from the bright sun.  
“No…” she starts, her voice wavering.  


“You needed the rest.” Cassandra declares with utter conviction.

They had all agreed to let her sleep. Whatever horrors lurked for her in the Fade, there was no debating that she needed the rest.  
“No! This is exactly why I didn’t... This is … horrific.”

Cassandra snorts, visibly annoyed.  
“Don’t be ridiculous.” 

At that, the Dalish face twists and she swings on her, eyes blazing, staring daggers at the seeker.  
“Shut up!” she rages and points accusingly. “Don’t you dare call me ridiculous! I am not the one who thinks that my sleep is more important than the lives of other people!”  
Her voice reverberates through the camp. She runs her hands through her hair and shakes her head.

“I mean honestly, how do you not understand? How do all of you not get it?”  
She asks, and starts to pace as she looks around at them all, tearing her hands form her hair to gesture wildly with her arms.

“Every single second we’re wasting, people die.” She screams. “Do you all want their blood on your hands?” She shrieks and her voice falters.

The question hangs in the air as the camp falls silent.

Solas was almost disappointed. As expected. Just as short sighted as the rest of them.

“And how many more might die if you perish?” Solas inquired, his voice brisk against the shining sun.

Elgara stares at him for a moment, eyes wide, seemingly frozen in place. Then she resumes her pacing. She shakes her head, frantically rubbing her palms. 

And then she suddenly stops again. And takes a few deep, ragged breaths. “I’m sorry. I was…” she breathes.

“We know.” Varric says, and Cassandra and Solas tip their heads in solemn agreement.

“Let’s just go.” Elgara says, and manages to twist her lips into something approaching a smile.

They all nod. Nobody protest. It seems as if, for the first time since they had begun their travels, they had found something they could all anonymously agree on. The importance of minimizing and eliminating the suffering of others. Perhaps his current company was not quite as aggravating as he had previously presumed.


	8. Unchanging Horrors

The air became tinted with the smell of death and decay as they approached the camp.   
Healers, Mages and Chantry Sisters did their best to tend to the wounded, applying ointments and offering prayers, but Solas knew it was likely most of them would die before nightfall. He had seen it all before. Some things never truly changed, battles, wars, least of all. The thought sickened him. Elves, Mages, humans, Templars - It all always came down to the lust for power, didn’t it? The unquenchable desire of some to suppress, control those who differed in any way, who deviated from what their oppressors deem as normal, as equals. They then turn spreading fear into an art form, and thus condemn the masses to thinking in black and white, simple right or wrong.  
What a waste and which familiarity.  
And yet, this was different, in this disfigured version of Thedas, everything was worse. He remembered the healer who had used her own blood to safe her patients. A magical skill, a kindness that would never be able to exist in this world. Their ignorance and unfounded fears would spoil even that. It would be a mercy to finally end this, but one that lay in the future. For now, he was arduously aware of these poor ,simpleminded, creatures that were suffering at this moment, and would do his best to ease their pain.

***

“Stay back! Don’t take another step!” a man screams at him hoarsely, pale, bloodshot eyes widening in fear. He is lying on a stretcher, armor split open, his short straw colored hair drenched in sweat. A child, a young girl, clings to the white fabric of his bandages, blond hair spilling in soft curls as she buries her face in his chest.

Knowing better than to raise his hands in peace - coming from a mage such a gesture could be interpreted differently - Solas keeps his body loose, hands at his chest for the man to see, fingers lightly intertwined, slightly bowing his head.  
“Please, I mean no harm, I wish only to offer my aid.”

“I don’t want your help!” the man rasps and stifles a cough “I told them,” -a crack on his lip splits open- “no mages!” He says and gasps for air as a coughing fit begins to shake him, his body starting to twitch uncontrollably. 

The child raises her head immediately, a grime smudged face drenched with tears, and nearly stumbles over herself as she rushes to help lay his head higher.   
The soldier has not finished his statement however and the lack of air was not enough to deter him, so once he has regained some composure, he fixes his eyes on Solas, croaks through labored breaths “Every single one of you is an abomination.”, and manages to spit for empathy before continuing to cough.

 _What an excellent use of one’s final breath._ Solas thinks, appalled.

“Father please,” The girl begs, she was young, no older than ten, and her feeble voice shakes as new tears well in her eyes. “Let him try. Oren let a mage help him, so why…” 

“My dear Anna,” the man interrupts and looks at her with parental tenderness “have some faith! The sisters are praying for me, I now put my life in the hands of the maker, if it’s my time to join him, then so be it.” 

“But he’s gone!” the little girl screams in desperation, tears streaming down her face.  
“Like everybody else! They are all gone! Everyone always leaves! You can’t talk like that! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me all alone! Father please!”

“Anna, it’s…”

“No!”

“Listen to me, the Hollins are a kind family, they have been …” 

“No!” she rehashed and her high pitched scream falls upon the camp like a mist, a chill that burrows itself into everyone’s minds, scraping at their hearts.

There is a moment of complete silence, of unified horror, as for a fraction of time, everyone is ripped from their thoughts by the desperate pleas of the little girl. As everyone is reminded of the horror of battle. The innocents that suffer in any war. And then it is over. Everyone is quick to resume their duties, but it still lingers over all of them, like a predator waiting to pounce. The question of death not if but when.

Then Solas hears footsteps, sees silhouettes approaching him from the corner of his eye. The tail of her new coat flutters in the wind as she steps closer, trailed by who he presumes to be Mother Giselle. Elgara shoots him a brief, knowing look, sympathetic, understanding - she has doubtless been the victim of countless such displays, of discrimination. - He feels a strange sense of connection, of comradery rise in him that remains even after she breaks their gaze, turning to the man.   
“I might be able to help.” She says, and Solas can detect nothing but kind compassion in her features.

The soldier huffs.  
“Why don’t you lot understand? I don’t want a mage to touch me!” he spits and ads with a sneer “Especially not an elf.”

Mother Giselle prepares herself to speak out, but Elgara is faster “You don’t know who I am, do you?” she asks calmly and hands her staff to Solas with an apologetic smile. 

“Tsk” he snarls “I know exactly who you are. All you savages are the same.”

She keeps the smile plastered on her face and Solas can still sense no subtle electric charge that would point to anger, nor an air of resentment, there appeared to be nothing but calm compassion. Curious. 

“I am who some people call the Herald of Andraste.” she declares.

The man gapes at her, brows crinkled and bug-eyed. 

She brings her fingers to her left gauntlet, slowly slipping it off to expose the bright anchor on her palm.

Anna gasps in awe and the soldier’s eyes widen even further, now seemingly threatening to fall out their hollow, pale sockets.

“Is that true mother?” he asks, eyes still fixed on the mark.  
Mother Giselle nods.   
“It is, she can ease your suffering, if you allow it.”

Elgara aptly slips her glove back on and meets the man’s stare, which in this fraction of time has changed completely. Hatred and discontent have been replaced entirely by admiration and awe.   
Solas resists the urge to sneer only barely.

_So simple were these creatures, so misguided and unthinking that a title could change their entire perception in less than a day._

“I am going to come closer now, and try to heal you, is that alright?” Elgara asks.

He nods feebly, apparently the Herald has not only earned his admiration but also derived him of his voice. A brighter day for everyone.  
The little girl starts to cry. “Thank you!” she whispers. “Oh thank you, chosen one!”


	9. Revelations

They walk in silence, ever deeper into the woods as the trees grow denser and the bushes thicken. Evening turns to dusk and by the time she finally stops, the moon is high. And when Elgara turns to face him, her eyes shine in the glowing light.

“I wanted to thank you again, for all that you’ve done.” she says and offers him a gentle smile. 

_Solas knows exactly where this is going. He knew, from the moment she lead him into the forest._

He inclines his head politely. No need to provoke anything. “Thank you. It is … pleasant to be appreciated. I hope I will continue to be of service.” 

Her face falls.  
_Of course._  
“So you’re still as senseless as ever.” she says, trying to sound amused, but her eyes tremble.

He chooses his words carefully, but is unable and somewhat unwilling, to take all the bite out of them. “If what you mean to imply is that I am not willing to ‘flee’, then no. By your definition, I am not.”

She sighs and her shoulders slump, but only for a moment. Then a strange resolution seems to sweep over her features and her body tenses instead.  
“Mother Giselle wants us to travel to Val Royeaux.” She says and gives him an expectant look.

“Yes.” He acknowledges simply.

She shakes her head in disbelief, and tries again, and this time, her words are accompanied by wild gestures. “You know, Val Royeaux, the capital of all that is rotten. Chantry and nobles. Those people, I mean our history, the lies…” 

She searches his eyes. Solas tries not to reveal his true sentiments. Her jaws clenches and her gaze trails to the ground. “They probably treat rabbits with a higher regard than elves.” Elgara spits. Her eyes narrow, still trailed by darkness, as she glares at the mere thought. But when she faces him again, a pained smile forces itself onto her lips.  
“You know that we’re not going there for the fancy food, right?” A hollow laugh. “Oh no, that would certainly be challenging, getting served there, as an elf.” She shakes her head and her smile turns bitter. “But challenging doesn’t seem enough for us anymore, does it? No, we have to attempt the impossible. We have to actually appeal to the Chantry. It’s crazy. Plain and simple.”

He just looks at her, dryly. 

“On the contrary. I see no better opportunity to convince them of our cause.”

She laughs and he almost flinches at the intensity.

“Look at you. Solas, ever the optimist.”

Now he has to laugh.  
“I would hardly describe myself as optimistic.”  
No, experience and the harshness of reality had trained that out of him. He looks at the elven woman standing before him now. So young and vibrant.  
“Some days, that sentiment seems to fit you rather well, though.” 

She huffs.  
“Oh no, I’m not an optimist. I just have a … broad perspective on life as a whole.”

“Is that so?”

She smiles softly.  
“Yes, I know that my fate is already sealed. I mean I’m as good as dead.”

He just stares at her in surprise. She shrugs.  
“I just choose to enjoy myself I approach the inevitable.”

_Was she referring to the anchor? No, she was probably worrying about something else. After all, she had no indication to think that the mark was still killing her._

“You think you are doomed?” he asks, still baffled by her statement.

“Of course!” she says with such enthusiasm and certainty as if he had just offered her a frilly cake. 

It takes him aback, and she moves closer.  
“But you aren’t.” she adds and her eyes shine with a sad light. Hope, he thinks. “Well not yet, anyway. But if you stick around you’ll be gone soon enough.”  
The smile slips entirely from her lips. “Or worse…” she says and her eyes flash with a strange intensity. It’s not a threat. It’s a promise. She tilts her head.  
“You say you’re not an optimist after all so… a masochist?” she decides.

_That does seem more fitting._

“No quite.” Solas responds.  
“I am merely someone in the midst of a tragedy who wishes to help.” He hardens his eyes. “And I did. And intent to continue.”

“Idiot.” She says, utterly impassive.

He feels his brows shoot up.  
“Excuse me?”

She huffs.  
“What? It’s the truth.”  
His brows climb even higher. Elgara just frowns at him.  
“Have some sense of self-preservation! I mean creators, you are an elf, and a mage. That’s like being poor and an orphan. It’s excessive.” 

“As are you.” he comments, dryly. 

Her expression softens.  
“No, not really - not to them anyway.” 

She sighs, a deep sound that carries the weight of more than would befit her.

“You saw what happened.” She says and looks at him with… pity. She is pitying him. Presumably for what happened at the camp. It is still rather unnerving. She sighs again. “I am no longer a person, I am seen as an idea, a concept, either a heretic that they can blame for everything that is wrong in their lives,” she flicks her tongue and lets out a soft huff “or the ‘chosen of Andraste’, embodiment of hope” she speaks the title in mockery and takes a deep, steadying breath “and to be honest I don’t know which one is worse.”

A pang races through him. 

Solas knew the burden of unwanted worship, a title that all but replaces your name, your identity all too well. She was right, of course. Nothing she said hadn’t long occurred to him, but he wouldn’t have thought her capable of such feelings, of such thought. A strange, faint sense of familiarity, of kinship, runs through him yet again, unexpected and yet so painfully potent. 

“You think this will end badly?” He asks, despite already knowing the answer.

She offers him a feeble smile.  
“Oh I’m sure they will all turn on me, in time, and I will be hanged, executed, or my personal favorite - burned at the stake. It has this whole Andrastian feel to it, don’t you agree?”  
Her voice is laid with cheery sarcasm, but he sees the tears glistening in her eyes, illuminated by her shining eyes. “But for the time being, I am safe. Safer than you anyway.”

“There is more to your fears.” He presses on. He can see it in her face. See it in the way she shifts in the moonlight.

When she laughs, it’s almost a cry. Sad, and defeated. She meets his eyes.  
“Of course! And you know it too, don’t you? But I have no alternative. I have no choice.”

Still deflecting. Still not telling him everything. Not that I ever will, he thinks grimly but chases the thought away. This is different. She is different. Her eyes are burning again.  
“But you have a choice. So please, please just leave, this is not your fight.”

He swallows the bitter laugh that threatens to escape his throat, and almost chokes on it.

_Oh if only that were true._

But it’s obviously not something he can tell her. He opts for “This is everyone’s fight.” instead. And adds “I have to do my part in assisting this world.” for good measure.

She laughs, madly, almost delirious.  
“You want to help the world? Then helping me is the worst thing you could possibly do!” she screams.

He tilts his head in confusion, and keeps his expression blank as his insides clasp with dread. It’s like what he felt at Haven, but stronger. As if his worst fears are about to hold true.

There is a charge radiating from the woman again. He summons mana.  
“Don’t you get it?” she asks, desperate in her hope that he already knows. That she won’t have to voice it. And he probably does. If his worst presumptions are true, he does. But he needs to hear her say it. Confirm it. He shakes his head and the truth bleeds out of her like a punctured wound.  
“I caused this. Everything that is happening is my fault. All the people that lost their lives, that died at the conclave, that are dying from the repercussions everyday single day - are dying because of me!”

Her voice is a sharp scream, shaking and cutting into his core. She starts to tremble, wrapping her arms around herself as she looks at him with such a pained expression, with such deep remorse and fear he almost pities her. Because he understands. He knows the feeling all too well. The indescribable pain of having doomed an entire world. There are no tears. There is too much terror, too much guilt, it fills her up, there is no room for anything else. A part of him wants to reach out and comfort her. The other part wants to rip her to shreds.

“How?” he asks, a demand, a wolf’s growl. 

_If she somehow caused this, if she… He had been so close…what could have been… what he could have accomplished if she hadn’t… if the explosion…_ He stops himself. The thought is too painful to continue. If he allows himself to get sucked in, he will certainly kill her. And she still holds the anchor, and he still doesn’t know everything.

The woman’s stares vacantly at the trees. Her eyes are incredibly wide. “I never meant to…” she starts, her voice barely a whisper. “You’ve got to believe me! I never… I didn’t … I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please, please…”

“What did you do?” He interrupts her. His voice is firm, but strained with horror.

But she seems too caught up in her own tale to answer his question. Her eyes dart frantically around, searching for focus, something anything they could hold on to, but find only darkness.

“I should never have left my clan!” she affirms, speaking more to herself and the closest tree than Solas. “I believed them, I tried to fool myself into thinking that I was just … just paranoid. But he haunts me. No matter where I go, he hunts me. He has played with me since the day I was born.” Her voice breaks. 

“Who?” he insists.

And she finally meets his eyes. Big, deep, dark orbs, shaking not like mere ripples in a pond, but the cruel waves of an ocean during a hazardous storm. Does the water know what it has swept away? How many lives it has taken? How much destruction it has rained?

“Solas… I am a cursed child.” She whimpers. “My first act in this world was to kill the one who gave me life.” Her voice is so raw with grief, and he can’t help but feel a flash of sympathy at that confession. That was not her fault. No matter what other sins she had committed, that was one burden she did not have to bare. He wants to tell her so, but does not get that opportunity. Elgara is pacing like a caged beast, mumbling incoherently to herself. She shakes her head violently, blood red hair spilling over her face. 

‘I shouldn’t be called sun when I am utter darkness. Everything I touch shrivels and dies!’ She screams in elvhen, as she throws her hands down in a heated gesture. 

Bolts of lightning fling at a nearby tree. A bright light in the darkness, purple that turns to red as the wood burns, the air crackles and smoke taints the crisp air. Solas reacts quickly, flinging ice that coils itself around the flames, coating the bark in shimmering crystals.

The Dalish just stands there, hugging herself as she chuckles, laughing like a madman.  
“On second thought suns not that far off, is it? ‘I am like a fire, eating away at everything.’”  
She lifts her head to stare at the sky.  
“It’s all going according to his plan.” She says, hair still dripping across her face in chaotic tangles. “This is what he wants! I am helping the chantry spread lies, converting, controlling, corrupting minds like the blight.” She stops for a moment and her voice drops. “I mean I have to, don’t I? If I don’t cooperate, I might cause the entire world to … “ She tilts her head.

He feels the back of his neck trickle as he watches a mad grin spread on her lips.

“You know on some days I’m not even sure if that would be so bad. What is the point of it anyway? Why struggle? Why wait?”  
Flames ignite from her gloved fingers, dancing menacingly in the air. “I can just burn everything to the ground right now.”

_Fenedhis._

Solas Fade-steps, closing the distance in one swift swoop and grips her wrists. She doesn’t resist. She doesn’t struggle. The flames die down. But her eyes still burn. Elgara lifts her head to stare at him.

“All those people… I have doomed so many, and I will doom so many more…”  
her head shakes, only lightly at first, but then with increasing determination. Her eyes are still burrowing into his.

“Why won’t you let me safe you? Why, Solas?”

His gaze hardens. She swallows, thickly. He tightens his grip.  
Then her voice becomes a whisper, a feeble plea.  
“I don’t want him to harm you. To hurt any of my people.”

“Who?” he asks, demands.

Her expression falters. She looks away.  
“I don’t want to speak his name.”

He huffs in annoyance. He was done with her games.  
“You will tell me. Now.”

She meets his eyes. Tawny hazel, radiating a strange kind of desperation. They appear impossibly deep. Her eyes ebb, the waves are about to part, rinsing to the shore what has been hidden in its furthest depths for so long. 

“Fen’Harel.” She whispers. And everything comes crashing down. He releases his grip and takes a few steps back.

It doesn’t resonate. Hearing the name on her lips sends shivers down his spine. The air catches in his throat. For a moment, he can’t seem to breathe.

“What?” he says feebly.

“I know you don’t believe, but it’s true! He comes to me in the Fade!”

He just looks at her, through her as she continues. Her voice a backdrop. He feels as if underwater. Everything is muffled and seems so far away. His heartbeat is the only constant, ringing impossibly loud in his ears. And then he catches her voice again. “And who else would cause such misery? Who else would give me the tool to appease the chantry?”

She clutches her left hand.

A new wave of horror crushes againt him, etching itself into his bones as the pieces click together.  
It all makes sense. Why she wanted him to flee. Why she seemed particularly concerned for him. Why she didn’t want him to touch the anchor. It was because she saw him as an elf, one of her people, a target for her ‘god’. She had come so close to the truth, and was yet so painfully wrong. She was a fanatic believer herself. To her, the Dread Wolf was a concept, a god of trickery, misfortune and misery. And if he put himself in her position, he could see how the anchor had caused her nothing put pain. Of course she would believe that her god, and not Andraste, would have a hand in this. That she was cursed. 

Solas stares at the woman before him now with new eyes, as a swirl of conflicting emotions runs through him. There is anger. He is furious that she would put her faith into such a misguided fable, that she was stupid enough to blindly believe. He was frustrated beyond measure. That the Dalish had all but forgotten everything. That they had forgotten the truth. A truth he could never tell. A part of him was even bitter, disappointed that she had nothing to do with it after all. That it was still only his burden to bare. But most of all, he was ravaged by guilt. He steps closer.

His expression turns tender when he addresses her and he wants, needs her to believe him. Trust in his every word.  
“Don’t… Don’t for a second believe… that you are to blame.” he says and his voice almost fails him.

He can see into her core and it tears at him. She is devastated. So incredibly raw with the achingly familiar mix of dread and remorse. A film of water begins to cloud her eyes.

“I don’t want the Dread wolf to take you.” she whispers.

He almost wants to laugh, as mad and frenzied as Elgara just moments before. She tilts her head, eyes trailing to the ground.  
“The anchor is cursed…”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He cuts her off. He is annoyed, bitter, and yet speaks his words so gently.

“Listen to me…” he starts and without thought, reaches out to cup her chin, guiding her to meet his eyes. She doesn’t flinch or withdraw, and when he pulls his hand away, he can still feel the echo of her breath on his skin. “The anchor, the mark that you now bare, that ties you to the Fade, is mere magic. Powerful, exceptional magic, but magic nonetheless. It is not controlled by anyone, god or other, and is not subject to anyone’s will. Of that, I am certain.” And how certain he was. And how many things would be easier if it were not true. If it would still yield to him. Solas voice was thick with such conviction that he was a bit anxious of what it might reveal. But then, he was reasonably confident that she would never make the connection. To her, he was a victim, not the perpetrator. A lamb in need of protection, not a wolf threatening to swallow her world. Still, an explanation would be appropriate. “I have examined the mark thoroughly. At Haven and also at camp, when you were injured.”

Her eyes well at his confession. And despite the absurdity of her concerns, his chest clenches.  
“I know. I am sorry I went against your wishes, but it had to be done. I had to examine it.”

Solas offers her an apologetic smile and to his surprise she reciprocates. She inclines her head in a gentle nod that somehow manages to convey both forgiveness and worry, in equal measures. His heart sinks.

She should not be worried about him, should not take responsibility for his actions. Should not shoulder the pain, the regret of having reeked such far reaching chaos - consequences that were so humongous in their reach that one could not fully comprehend it. To have Fen’Harel, a name, an idea, a myth, take over, all but replacing her concept of self. A strange sense of urgency washed over him. She needed to understand. She had to.

“The wolf you see is a construct of the Fade. It reflects reality as you regard it, or as you wish to see it, and not as it truly is. Legends heard over decades, disguised as truths and virtues are clouding your mind. But you have to remember that they are simply stories, told by people. And as such, they are inherently flawed. Like a language, they evolve, shift and change, adapting to the needs and desires of the narrators as they pass through the ages.” 

He softened. Judging by her expression, it seems his words did at least not fall on deaf ears. That she was able to absorb some of it, that the truth had at least partly sunken in. It would be awhile before they would bear fruit, but at least they were sprouting roots.

He felt his lips curl into an encouraging smile.  
“You are not to blame for what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It was not Andraste nor … your god that bestowed the anchor upon you. However you have come to acquire this mark, it was likely a coincidence, nothing more.”

She draws a long breath. Her face is incredibly … Her eyes so impossibly wide… Moved by something beyond rational thought, beyond conscious decision, Solas reaches out. 

And she lets him.

He holds her gaze, holds her hands - and then gently begins to pull off the gloves. At first she flinches, and shifts like a cornered animal, but catching is eyes, she stills and lets him continue. Her breath hitches. He drops them to the cold forest floor. She shudders. Solas gently clasps his fingers around her exposed hands. They are so warm and soft, and he can’t help but remember the cold, damp cell. How careless he had regarded her then. How little he knew.  
She begins to shake and wants to pull away, opening and closing her mouth as if to scream or speak, but he is steady, calm, and after a while she eases.

Her eyes drink him in and he can practically feel what she feels. Feel her tangled, hidden emotion loosen like a ball of yarn. The air around them becomes impossibly thin…  
And then her face twists in pain as she comes undone with a whimper, collapsing into his arms, sobbing and shaking, crumbling against his chest. He tenses at the contact, it had been long, so long... but he wraps his arms around her, more by instinct than conscious choice. He can smell her, sweat, flowers and honey, feel her chest heave and sink uncontrollably, her heart beat under the thin fabric.  
She clings to him like a rock, her tears wash away at him, breaking off little pieces and tearing them into their depths. And yet it is strangely comforting. As if by easing her fears, by offering her comfort he can somehow quiet the beasts that rage inside himself.  
She is so close. So incredibly close. To his chest, to the truth, to his feelings. And yet he pulls her even closer. 

_And then a terrible realization begins to seep through the mist of his mind._  
_That she might not pose a danger to the world in the way he had imagined.  
_ _But that to him, she could just become the most dangerous element he could never have anticipated._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope somebody sees this and enjoys ^^  
> And just an ENOURMOUS thank you to superb-mediocrity who honestly is just too awesome for words. <3  
> I really appreciate constructive criticism and please feel free to point out any grammatical/spelling errors you might have spotted. : )


End file.
